


It's Dark Inside

by bluefreon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood Play, Cutting, Depression, Established Relationship, Fire, M/M, Regret, Songfic, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefreon/pseuds/bluefreon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, even if you try to fight your own battles, you’ll still need help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Demons

**Author's Note:**

> [Written: December 2012]
> 
> This started as a random story based on the song “Demons” by Imagine Dragons. I kept on listening to it on loop and presto! Plot bunny! Of course I had to make my own revisions to turn a plain story into a sterek fic. I was probably in one of my moods and I actually succeeded in writing this kind of fic. 
> 
> Trigger warning! I am not even kidding guys. Mentions of blades, cuts, and blood. And quite descriptive. If you are easily triggered, please don't read (I’m just really concerned, okay?)
> 
> Comments, suggestions, reactions are welcome! I’m thinking of adding another chapter from a different POV so input would be highly appreciated. :D

 

He opened the door and closed it softly, switching on the light and squinting at the glare. He felt so tired and weak, making him lean on the wall and slide down to the floor. The small, black bag was crushed by his heavy hand, emitting a crinkling noise in the silence of the area. The sound made him snap out of his daze, shaking his head a bit before he picked up the bag and laid it out on his lap. Opening it, he shuffled through its contents until his fingertips brushed against something cool and metallic. Instantly, he picked up the two cutter blades and held it to his eyes for inspection.

His next steps felt like clockwork: grabbing some tissue and soaking it with some alcohol, cleaning the blades until they smelled like isopropyl and metal, setting aside a pack of dressing and medical tape. He laid down his blades on two tissue squares before he pulled off his shirt and leaned back once again. The cold, bathroom tiles made contact with his warm skin, and it made him shiver a bit.

One blade was picked up, and he held out his right arm. His eyes inspected his limb, locating a perfect patch of white, unmarked skin on his upper arm, just beside a small mole. His left hand held the cold blade against the skin, brushing against it softly as he got used to the feel of it. He wiped his mind blank as he angled his hand, piercing through the flesh and drawing a clear line. The blade was transferred, and fingers pinched around the cut, drawing a tiny line of blood.

Something ignited deep within his mind, making him draw another line, and another, and another; each deeper than the previous one. He stopped after a while and counted seven straight lines, pale red in color. He flexed his arm, and stretched it afterwards. The action allowed the wounds to open more, making rivulets of blood to form over each cut. He held his nose to deeply sniff at his work, taking in the strong scent of iron. A tongue darted out to taste, before he gently sucked on the wounds and rolled the blood in his mouth. His head leaned back, watching the ceiling idly and relishing the feel.

He never heard the _creak_ from the door, or felt the presence inches away from his. However, he noticed the shift in shadows around him but before he could turn his head, a hand landed on his shoulder and allowed his mind to reel itself back to reality. His neck was nuzzled and he recognized the familiar tip from a nose.

“So, this is what I’ve been smelling” the words were quite distant, but the deep rumble was unmistakable.

He suddenly felt lips brushing against his wounded arm, until they smeared on the cuts and immediately sucked on the remaining blood. This made him arch his back, eyes rolling and closing involuntarily. He gasped then breathed out, before a mouth was pressed against his own and his brain registered the action.

Incidentally, he relaxed against the kiss and reciprocated seconds later. He was surprised that he even managed to _move_ , as he felt extremely tired all of a sudden. A strong tongue prodded inside his mouth, bringing in the taste of iron that he sampled earlier. The hand on his shoulder moved to his neck, then started to trail over his collarbone and chest. It rubbed along the entire expanse of skin until it settled right over his fluttering heart. The sensation made his moan softly, a throaty sound that escaped his lips when his captor pulled away.

“Let me…let me take care of you Stiles. I’m just here. Anything you need, just…”

“Derek…” he whispered out. He cracked his eyes open and was met with the intense gaze of his boyfriend. “What are you—?”

“Here. Lean forward a bit, will ya?” he heard the other say, brushing off his inquiry. He numbly obeyed, pushing off from the wall and resting his chin on Derek’s shoulder. There was movement before he was pushed back and felt a warm material against his back. _Derek’s jacket_ his mind supplied helpfully. The other man sat cross-legged across him then reached for the alcohol and some tissue lying beside the black bag. He watched as the werewolf squeezed some alcohol on the tissue then peered at him “let’s clean you up, hmm?” he murmured, before he pressed the wet tissue against the open cuts.

Stiles winced slightly, but his mind was still numbed out and didn’t really process the pain. Slow, sweeping movements were done to clean up the blood, until the cuts stopped bleeding and there was no dried blood left around the edges. He tossed the tissues in the bin before reaching for the dressing and tape.

Quick work was done, as Derek covered the wounds effectively then proceeded to fix up the mess around them. Stiles moved his head lazily and saw the patch of dressing on his arm held down by some tape. “Wow, that’s nice…” he felt himself smirk at the handiwork.

“Is it? Well, c’mon. Bed” Derek said, standing up then reaching down to grab the teen’s hands. Shaking them a bit, he decided against it and pulled Stiles up by his armpits instead. Stiles managed to stand upright, but felt his body sag forward against the other man.

“Okay, try to walk please” he heard the other say, as he was being pushed out of the bathroom. Both found their way to the bed, and Stiles immediately collapsed on it, rolling around and curling himself to a ball.

Lights were switched off, and just when Stiles was about to reach down to pull his blanket over his body, warmth pressed against his back and a blanket was thrown over him. Arms wrapped around his waist as he was slowly spooned from behind. He felt hot breath just beneath his ear and words were spoken softly “Get some rest. Recover. Please” there was an underlying tone of desperation, but he could be imagining it.

Stiles closed his eyes and let silent tears fall down. “I’m sorry”

There was a sigh behind him “You relapsed. I’ve heard that it happens. Just, try sleeping it off for now”

“I—in the morning, I’ll tell you” he felt himself say

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to”

“But I want to,” Stiles rolled on his other side to face the werewolf “if you…if it’s okay with you”

There was a short moment of silence, before Derek replied “In the morning then. Rest now, okay?”He moved closer to kiss Stiles’ forehead gently

“mmm” Stiles rubbed his cheek against the pillow and closed his eyes. He felt his inner demons recede and more of his usual self bubble back up to the surface. “Thank you”

“Anytime, for you”

 


	2. Darkness Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Written: August 2013]; [continued/finished: May 2014]
> 
> So. Hi guys. 
> 
> As you can see from the awesome timestamp, I decided to finish this chapter after almost a year of writing it midway. I literally just finished up the loose ends and publishing it now before this sad Word document meets the bottomless pit that it my fic folder.
> 
> More trigger warnings added! I didn't mention what's the actual...thing so that I won't spoil anyone, but it's almost the same as the first chapter. There are just hints of what _could_ happen, but yeah. Stuff happened. 
> 
> Anyway, here's the much-awaited second chapter with Derek's POV. I'd like to apologize for being incoherent as it's 3am right now and I haven't had proper sleep because of work so yeah.

“I’m gonna go ahead. Make sure you’re home before it gets dark, okay? You know that we need to stick together these days” Laura said, placing a strong hand on his shoulder and peering into his eyes “do you understand?”

“Yes” he mumbled, unable to meet her intense gaze. He understood; really he did. But at the same time he wanted to just forget about family for one night.

To forget everything and just be with her.

The older Hale nodded. “I’ll see you at home, okay? Mom said you’re on cousin-duty today so don’t you dare be late. You know how rowdy Andy and James get”

He rolled his eyes as he looked at her “Yeah. She told me too this morning. Just…” he couldn’t lie, never to his own sister “I’ll be there as soon as I can”

“Fair enough. See ya later then” and with a cheeky smile and a quick turn, she left him in the nearly deserted hallway.

Never did he think that that was the last time he’d ever see his sibling.

 

\---

 

Derek tossed and turned. Behind closed lids, he could see long brown hair that curled at the tips. His skin felt hot from the ghostly touch that spread throughout his body. A dainty voice _‘come on, that’s it sweetie’_ being whispered against his ear, making his heart pound loudly against his chest.

Then his brain registered the smell of smoke; of high-pitched screams; of ash in his mouth.

His eyes flew open and he jolted up from his mattress. The screams faded and he was slowly becoming aware of the cold sweat running down his arms and back. He sat up and tried to level his breathing but the smoke was _still there_ , and it filled his entire being that he felt like he was choking.

He looked around and realized that he was alone upstairs, in his old childhood home

That burned in a fire, but survived.

The _house_ survived, but what about his _family_?

He closed his eyes briefly, but it was worse. He could hear the screams echoing around his head, a sinister laugh that mocked him, and a woman’s voice saying ‘it’s all your fault’.

“It’s all my fault” he whispered, feeling numb inside and out

He got out of bed and walked towards the closet-- one of the only pieces of furniture that the floor had. There, sitting innocently by the side were bags of groceries that have not been sorted out. He had no clue as to what he was searching for, so he shuffled through the contents, taking things out and throwing them around blindly. At one point, his hand grasped onto a bottle or two and he promptly threw them away like it was a ball of crumpled paper.

That was when he heard glass breaking, and his nose immediately picked up a strong smell.

He ceased his mindless searching, keeping still as he tried to _think_. But it was no use. After a few seconds, he looked down at his hands and saw a small box of matches in his palm.

_You didn’t come home on time_

It was how he imagined Laura saying it. The way she would stand in front of him, hand on her hip and head cocked to the side. She’d shake her head and roll her eyes, before she turns and walks away…and disappears.

He can feel his eyes sting from the acrid stench just inches away from him. His eyes darts back to the grocery stash and instantly spots another bottle. He picks it up, blinking away the heat from his eyes, and grips the bottlecap with a shaky hand.

But just when he was about to twist it off, another hand covers his own and stops his movement.

“Derek”

The werewolf was not able to hear the creak of his front door, the reprimanding shouts, or sense the worry that was emanating from the boy on his right.

Everything was in slow-motion now, trying to keep up with the events that he missed. He lifted his head and saw Stiles’ face etched in deep worry. His hand was still on Derek’s, while the other was flat on the floor and keeping him stable.

“Hey” Stiles started, staying still as he spoke “what are you thinking right now?”

The question threw Derek off-guard, because of all the possible things that his boyfriend could ask him, he settled with asking what Derek was thinking. But no matter how odd, it was strangely effective because he immediately responded.

“I should’ve burned with them that night”

He definitely heard the _blip_ in Stiles’ heartbeat at those words. Yet, the boy’s appearance didn’t give him away. He knew that he’d been dwelling too much in the memories of his family, but it’s been _really_ bad recently.

If he was being honest to himself, he’s been having nightmares for about two weeks already. Every single day for the past two weeks.

There was a puff of air that he heard more than felt, before words were spoken once again. “You know that that isn’t true…”

“BUT IT IS” he shouted, the grip on the bottle going too tight that it breaks. Clear liquid pours over his hand as the bottom half hits the floor and spills over while the neck with the bottle cap remains on his open palm

…and he immediately crushes it, curling his fingers around the shards

“NO!” Stiles shouts, swatting his hand forcibly. Derek’s hand is still closed, and the younger boy winces at the miniscule sound of glass cracking.

That is when the younger boy cups Derek’s hand, and proceeds to pry it open with his fingers.

“Stiles” the werewolf growls out, low and warningly. His eyes flash for a second.

“I’m not afraid of you”

“Stop it”

“No. YOU stop it”

Derek lets out another warning growl. He could feel his fangs slowly lengthening inside his mouth.

“I am not afraid of you. Just…stop this already” Stiles continues, never letting his hands falter. He shifts a bit, and his left shoe steps over the clear and pungent liquid creeping over the wooden floorboards. He immediately knows the danger that the liquid could pose, but he didn’t pay attention to it. Instead, he tries to inch closer, still attempting to pry open the other’s closed fist.

There is heavy breathing as Derek shoves the human and tries to stand. “Don’t get any closer,”

“No”

This time he roars. It’s loud enough to echo throughout the empty house, and it makes his bedroom door creak a bit from the force.

Stiles, this puny little human who can be annoyingly stubborn, merely furrows his brow then raises the left one. He speaks just as Derek is huffing out breaths.

“I won’t back down, babe. You are not hiding this away from me, okay?”

There was no response. Stiles plucks up whatever courage he still had to force Derek’s hand open. To his mild surprise, there was no resistance. The broken shards of glass fall to the ground while some bits stick to the open flesh. His other hand steals the box of matches and tosses them carelessly behind him.

“Okay hold on. Let me pick out the pieces…”

“There’s no need—“

“Are you kidding me? Do you really want shards of glass underneath that thick skin of yours, huh?”

“If it’s a lot easier for everyone, then why—“

“Okay you’ve got to stop talking already” Stiles says in a serious tone. He spreads open the werewolf’s hand and starts to pick the shards. “Good thing there’s just a few stuck…”

Silence fell upon them, with the pair squatting and unmoving. After about five more minutes, Stiles dropped the last glass shard on the floor and drew the bloodied hand closer to his face to examine it. “I guess that was the last one…”he muttered, before standing slowly. He tried to pull Derek up but to no avail.

“Fine. You can brood some more, but let’s relocate to a cleaner…spot, okay? Hang on…” Stiles said, walking towards the opposite corner. He passed the large bed and pulled off the sheets and pillows, dragging them all to the far corner across the window. He then hurried back to the werewolf and led him towards the newly-made nest. Stiles kicked off his shoes and sat down, legs stretched and back against the wall.

Derek looked at him blankly, only a deep frown set upon his lips.

“Seriously? Come over here sourwolf. Now” Stiles said, rolling his eyes when the werewolf finally stood and approached him. He sat beside Stiles and sighed, laying his hands on his knees and leaning heavily against the wall.

“Why aren’t you healing?” the words were a bit blurry, even if the speaker was just beside him.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Stiles repeated, grabbing Derek’s bloody hand. He looked around then fished a hand inside his jeans pocket and pulled out a messy-looking handkerchief.

“I…I won’t heal. Quickly” Derek muttered out, watching his companion roll the piece of cloth then started to wrap it around his hand. “I mean I _will,_ but it won't be like usual because it’s self-inflicted” he finished, just as Stiles tied the ends tightly.

“Huh. Okay then” Stiles said, shrugging a bit. He continued observing the werewolf, taking note of the bad posture, heavy sighs, and worse-than-normal gloominess. “Tch”

Without any warning, he grabbed the nearest blanket and quickly draped over Derek like a cloak. He used it to pull him closer and Derek just swayed with the motion, using the small momentum to lean against the teen’s side until his head was already being pillowed by the other’s lap. He could sense Stiles’ contentment, and heard the slight hum from the boy’s throat.

“Try not to make me worry like this anymore. It’s extremely bad for my health. Not that I’m health-conscious of my mental well-being. But I could probably start small…” Stiles said out loud, hand on his bicep and squeezing it a bit.

“I’m too damaged. It’s too dark inside” Derek whispered, eyes trained on the opposite wall. He felt Stiles shift a bit before a pair of brown eyes stared right at him.

“I don’t care” Stiles replied simply, kissing his forehead in an overly gentle manner. “I’m here to stay and I won’t stop chasing that darkness away”.

 


End file.
